New Way to Bleed
by Epic Solemnity
Summary: LV/HP Kiddnapped as a baby, Harry Potter is raised oblivious under Dagnar Lystad's powerful regime in Norway. After a family tragedy, Harry is forced into the world of politics at a young age. Surrounded by constant deceit and betrayal, and the struggle to prove his worth, he finds an unlikely pillar in the Dark Lord of Britain.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Kidnapped as a baby, Harry Potter is raised oblivious under Dagnar Lystad, a powerful politician in Norway. After a family tragedy, Harry is forced into the world of politics at a young age. Surrounded by constant deceit and betrayal, and the struggle to prove his worth, he finds an unlikely pillar in the Dark Lord of Britain. Together, they play games of their own with their own set of rules. But Harry soon realizes even the Dark Lord keeps destructive secrets. **SLASH LV/HP.**

**Warnings** _(Voldemort looks like Voldemort.)_ This is bound to have similar _aspects_ as 'Death of Today' (never, ever to be compared to it, just *aspects*). If that bothers you, please make a hurried exit. Also, there is _light _slash (dark in nature, but still not overwhelming on the hot-n-steamy bits). If you're reading this for the romance/smut, again, I would suggest picking up another story to read.

**Disclaimer** I own nothing but my imagination *sniff* and even that's limited nowadays. If I'm not mistaken, '_Aksel'_ is a form of '_Axel'_ and pronounced '_Ax-sel'_. The 'a' in Askel sounds like the 'a' in _father_. You can Google 'how to pronounce Aksel' and they have a small audio of it.

**Important Note!**: This story was on my other account. I know I am biting of more than I can chew (having more than a few stories to finish and complete) but I'm still experiencing a writer's block and it's frustrating me. I'm just writing where my muse is, and I've been thinking of this story for a while.

**Chapter One**

"I heard he has a face like a bloody _snake_," Mons exclaimed with enough drama that would rival a pack of gossiping witches.

Aksel leaned against the wall, surveying the group of Durmstrang students with critical eyes. They were getting too rowdy and his father would not like it. It was understandable to be excited over Norway's newest _guest_, but their tongues were getting a bit too sharp and loose. Insulting a powerful Dark Lord while the man was in the room was far from smart. Even if his father tended to bad-mouth Britain's Dark Lord, he was respectful and smart enough not to do it in the man's presence.

Moreover, Aksel's father could take care of himself against the Dark Lord, whereas Mons and the rest of the Durmstrang students would be lucky if they were able to lift a finger against the powerful Brit.

Green eyes turned to look at the Dark Lord from across the room. Aksel had never felt magic coming off from another wizard before. In textbooks, they claimed that wizards could not feel each other's auras unless there was one powerful enough to naturally exude magic. Aksel always believed his father was one of the most powerful men in Norway, and perhaps he was, but without a doubt, Lord Voldemort was the most powerful wizard in all of Europe.

Aksel could even say the Dark Lord was the most powerful wizard in the world, but he had never traveled outside of the Scandinavian region. He couldn't make such claims until he encountered every wizard across the globe. Though truthfully, it was difficult to imagine someone harboring more power than the cloaked figure across the room.

The magic around the Dark Lord wasn't like basking in warmth, no; it was the polar opposite. The magic was cold, frightening, but to Aksel, it was also alluring—almost familiar.

To add to the man's frigid façade and ice-like magic, Aksel also heard rumors that Lord Voldemort was insane.

His father, Dagnar Lystad, was a very prominent politician. To Norwegians, he was _the _pure-blood royalty. He didn't hold a top rank in the Norwegian's Ministry, but he had money, power, and allies from all over the Scandinavian region. In Norway and in her neighboring allies, the Ministry was only an entity that passed laws and regulations. The pure-blood royalty were the individuals who ran the country, Dagnar in particular.

His father also believed in the Dark Arts and he excelled in them. He also supported pure-blood rights with frenzy. All those reasons and more were most likely why Lord Voldemort sought Dagnar out.

Even if Dagnar and Voldemort had parallel goals and similar power dynasties, the former man disliked the Dark Lord considerably. Dagnar believed the Dark Lord was, in short, an insane bastard who killed in cold blood. He also believed Voldemort was too far gone and wouldn't know how to run an ordered society properly. If Europe ever came under the Dark Lord's power, Dagnar claimed the world would self-destruct in chaos.

To Aksel, Voldemort possessed _brilliant _insanity. The world would be in _organized _chaos rather than the total chaos Dagnar claimed it would be. Now that he stood in the same room as the Dark Lord, Aksel briefly wondered if his father was merely jealous of Voldemort's sheer and overwhelming power.

Despite his contempt for Voldemort, Dagnar had accepted the Dark Lord's invitation to meet, but under _his _terms. The Dark Lord had to travel to Norway, and more specifically, to the Lystad Manor. Only _one _companion was allowed with the Dark Lord. Aksel thought his father was rather bold in his demands, but surprisingly enough, Voldemort had accepted anyway. It appeared as if the Dark Lord wanted to form an alliance. Perhaps desperately. Or perhaps there was another motive underneath it all.

With Voldemort's presence, Dagnar hoped to accomplish the impossible: a chance to kill the Dark Lord, a chance many wizards could only orchestra in their daydreams. Killing Lord Voldemort would bring Dagnar into another caliber, a caliber of wizards, particularly Brits, who would respect and adhere.

Aksel thought it was a goal that wouldn't come to pass and only end up in disaster. The Dark Lord just regained his body not too long ago. He wouldn't be so foolish to open himself up to an attack, no matter if he wasn't back to his full strength just yet.

Sixteen years ago, Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord at the mere age of one, destroying the man's body. The world thought he was forever gone and they were shocked into silence when the man announced his presence once again—after thirteen years of silence. Aksel knew the Dark Lord was staying under the radar for the most part, but he was also gathering as many allies as he could.

"Aksel."

He blinked, looking to his father who was ushering him from across the room.

Pushing off from the wall, he gracefully approached his father and the two men standing before him. For the life of him, Aksel tried to keep his knees from shaking and appearing like an idiot. An invisible string coiled tightly across his chest and pulled him into the Dark Lord's merciless orbit. The closer Aksel orbited near the Dark Wizard, the dizzier he became.

Power like this was… abnormal. History claimed that Lord Voldemort was the most dangerous wizard of all time, having pushed the very limits of magic. Standing in the man's proximity, Aksel could only shake his head at those simple terms. It was so much more; _he _was so much more. Experiencing it all, experiencing the fear, the cold, the power, it was nothing compared to the flat words in a newly printed history book.

While not cloaked in the finery of his blond companion, the Dark Lord was still more noticeable. He towered over his neighboring wizard with a simple black robe hanging off his tall and thin frame. A heavy and deep hood covered his features, revealing nothing but a white jaw and thin, almost nonexistent lips. The man could look like a bloody snake all he wanted when he had _that _level of power.

Underneath the feelings of awe and fear, Aksel noticed the slight burn between his eyes the closer he neared the trio of wizards. It felt like a migraine in its concentration, but it came in infrequent waves and he could ignore it enough to appear unbothered. Though, it was a familiar feeling to him, as it has been the past two years. Frequently at night, after odd nightmares and dreams, he would wake up with his forehead aflame.

As Aksel came to a stop next to his father, he clasped his hands behind his back and faced the two men impassively.

"Aksel, I'd like for you to meet our guests, Lord Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy," Dagnar murmured softly. "This is my son, Aksel."

His grew hyperaware of the eyes settled on him, so much so that his skin prickled both unpleasantly and giddily at the attention. With a quickening pulse, Aksel bowed stiffly in greeting. "It— it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he welcomed, cringing when he realized he had actually _stuttered_. When was the last time he had stuttered? It had to be years ago, when he was a young boy accompanying his father on a political call.

As he straightened, he forced his eyes on the man next to the Dark Lord, hoping to use the blond as a source of distraction. He was aware of the Malfoys. They were a notorious family in Britain with quite a bit of power over their Ministry, but certainly not enough influence as Aksel's family had in the Norwegian Ministry.

Lucius Malfoy had a shocking shade of blond hair and robes so rich, Aksel thought he might dirty them just by breathing.

"Pleasure," Lucius drawled, sounding exceptionally bored. His silver eyes then ran the length of Aksel, immediately taking on an interested shimmer. Next to the blond, the tall form of the Dark Lord cocked his head slightly in greeting, but otherwise remained silent.

"Your classmates are growing far too raucous, Aksel," Dagnar scolded unhappily. His dark eyes surveyed the Durmstrang students from over Aksel's head. The man's posture clearly spoke of his displeasure at such a spectacle in his hall.

Aksel remained facing the two guests, not in the least bit worried at his father's tone. His father really _was _a cruel bastard. A few backhands during his childhood should have made Aksel frightened of his father, or at least leery, but it had only made him more stubborn. His father wasn't known for his patience as he handed out scathing insults just as frequent as backhands, but Aksel had learned to take them with a grain of salt.

"I'm afraid I told the house elves not to serve liquor tonight, father, but they insisted," Aksel murmured disapprovingly. "Young wizards will jump at a chance to drink without immediate supervision."

With the amount of liquor being passed hand to hand, Aksel mused if the three wizards had heard Mons' exclamation that the Dark Lord had a snake-like face. Aksel braved himself and slyly looked at the Dark Lord, unable to see any sign of the man's features.

The Dark Lord's lips twisted at Aksel's observation and the younger wizard turned away quickly. His belly twisted at the man's unwavering attention. Voldemort's scrutiny had not strayed from Askel ever since his arrival next to his father. What could the Dark Lord possibly find interesting in Aksel? He was nothing compared to the Dark Lord's overwhelming and domineering person. Surely the Dark Lord viewed young adults as sniveling brats?

"I will go speak to them," Dagnar began. The man placed a heavy hand on his son's shoulder, causing Aksel's knees to almost buckle. "Please show both Lord Voldemort and Mr. Malfoy to their rooms. They can get situated before dinner beings."

Aksel inclined his head, desperately trying to reign in his composure and confidence. "Yes, father," he murmured.

He watched as Dagnar bowed at the two wizards before sweeping off toward the Durmstrang students. Aksel stood for a moment longer, watching in amusement as the students caught sight of Dagnar's advancing form and skittered. Mons thrust his cup behind him, placing a poorly-crafted mask on his face. Aksel hadn't seen the boy look so young and vulnerable since their first year at Durmstrang together.

Green eyes snapped to the two men in front of him, grinning all the while. "If you'll please follow me…"

He turned with a flourish of robes and led them across the sleek marbled floor. Dagnar had decided to arrange a welcoming ball for the Dark Lord of Britain. Rather ironic, really, considering he was planning the man's demise. Aksel didn't know his father's plans in regards to the Dark Lord, as Dagnar wasn't known for giving too much information to his son. All he knew was which rooms to assign the Dark Lord and his companion.

He also knew his father was an _idiot _for thinking he could even lead the Dark Lord into trouble, let alone kill him.

"You attend Durmstrang Institute, correct?" the cultured voice of Lucius Malfoy spoke behind Aksel.

The young wizard glanced at the two wizards behind him, taking care to keep his eyes on the blond and not the overwhelmingly tall figure of the Dark Lord. "I do," Aksel confirmed softly.

"And what year are you?" Lucius continued questioning.

"This coming year will be my last," Aksel replied lightly as he brought the two wizards around a sharp corner. He wondered at the blond-man's sudden interest in him. While Aksel was a private individual, he didn't mind humoring Mr. Malfoy with answers. It would make the trip to their quarters a lot less strained. Besides, a conversation would divert his attention away from the pensive stare he could feel coming from the silent, brooding Dark Lord.

"I have a son your age," Lucius continued airily. "I considered sending him to Durmstrang but his mother wanted him closer to home."

Aksel offered a thin smile as he looked over his shoulder again. "I suppose you wanted your son to attend Durmstrang for the tutorage of Dark Arts, yes?" At Lucius' tight nod, Aksel turned back around and continued down the corridor. "Then you are lucky you saved a pretty penny by sending him to Hogwarts. Unless, of course, you decided to send him to Beauxbatons?"

An ugly expression twisted Lucius' face. "Hogwarts," the man confirmed. "Why would you assume—"

"Because Durmstrang likes to boast to the foreigners that they teach the Dark Arts," Aksel drawled. "They, however, do not." At Lucius' noise of refusal, Aksel continued smoothly. "Oh yes, they do teach a brief lesson to the students, but that is only for the advanced Seventh Years. And even then, the Dark Arts they teach are the Unforgivables, something I can easily find in a textbook."

Aksel had heard it all in Durmstrang. The elder students had complained about the lack of spells they were taught, the lack of rituals, runes, and other branches of Dark Magic. Aksel had been disappointed, simply because the Dark Arts had always drawn him in.

"Do you wish to become acquainted with the Darker aspects of magic?"

Aksel faltered when he heard the Dark Lord speak for the first time. It was a raspy, almost husky-sort of whisper. It cooled his blood and sent goose bumps scattering across his skin. He closed his eyes at the man's voice, finding himself hyper-aware of everything Lord Voldemort did.

"Yes, very much so," Aksel divulged.

"Your father," the Dark Lord continued in a raspy hiss. "Isn't he capable of assisting you in that art?"

Aksel paused in front of a strong oak door and turned to his two accompanies. A bitter grin stretched his lips as he looked at the cloaked figure of the Dark Lord. The corridor they were standing in was dark, but it seemed to grow darker where Voldemort stood. Nonetheless, he found the courage to speak.

"My father claims my magic is not dark enough to engage in the Dark Arts. He considers me a Light wizard."

The hooded head of Voldemort bowed and a hissing-like chuckle escaped his lips. Next to him, Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened a fraction as he stared openly at his Lord. Dismissing his servant's open surprise, Voldemort looked back up at Aksel, his thin lips twisted into a dangerous smile. "You are far from that, child. You _reek_ of the Dark. And dare I say it? I can even see shards of your soul that mirror my own."

Aksel's belly turned hot at the confession. Surely that man was jesting and leading Aksel along?

"Be that as it may, Dagnar won't teach me the Dark Arts. I plan on teaching myself through textbooks." As he reached for the door handle, Voldemort gave a dark tsk. Nevertheless, the Dark Lord remained silent on the topic and Aksel pushed the door open. Glancing at Lucius, the younger wizard motioned inside. "Hopefully this will suit you," he drawled, giving a pointed look at the man's lace and pristine robes. "I'm afraid the chambers with the gold-plated floors and ceilings are in the process of being remodeled."

Malfoy's nose turned upward and he stayed stubbornly outside his rooms. At first, Aksel believed the man already saw something he didn't appreciate inside his quarters.

"I appreciate you showing me my rooms; however, I will stay with my Lord until dinner begins."

Voldemort waved a dismissal hand. "That will not be necessary, Lucius."

It was all that was needed between the two. Aksel watched in mild amusement as Lucius entered his rooms, his back stiff and his expression drawn sourly. Apparently, Malfoy's protection was not needed, though Aksel couldn't imagine why not. Voldemort couldn't be so stupid to believe he was safe here, in enemy's territory.

Once Malfoy's door closed, Aksel motioned to the door opposite of Lucius' rooms. "Those will be your chambers, My Lord. You may call for Lenny, your House-elf, if you require assistance." He turned toward the man, unsettled at the Dark Lord sudden proximity.

"Would your friends miss your company if I asked you to entertain me until dinner?" A lipless smirk curled the man's mouth as he looked down at Aksel.

His pulse skipped a beat at the request, or subtle demand. Gripping his hands together behind his back, Aksel remained blasé in face of the man's scrutiny. "My father likes to tell me that I'm not a very good conversationalist. Surely Mr. Malfoy would be a better—"

"Your company will have to make do," Voldemort decided, walking past his assigned rooms and a motionless Aksel. "The gardens. Take me to them."

Aksel pursed his lips, his eyes flashing at the abrasive demand. "You mean _follow_ you to the gardens?" he rebutted. "It looks like you already know the way, My Lord."

Voldemort turned, the shadows clinging to him protectively. "Whichever terminology you prefer, Mr. Lystad, I require your company at the gardens." Without another word, the man turned and walked from the hallway. There was nothing ungraceful about the way he moved. Just like a serpent, he moved with such fluidity that it could hardly be called 'walking'.

Aksel followed with his own sharp grace, refusing to sulk behind the man. He was used to domineering figures throughout his childhood and he knew how to deal with them accordingly. Yet, he also knew that the figures raising him would never harm him severely, whereas the Dark Lord would have no qualms about killing him. There was no reason to take the Dark Lord's haughtiness personally, but Aksel would also have to watch his own tongue in the presence of this man.

Silence stretched between them as they made their way through the manor. The further they traveled, the more uneasy Aksel became. Voldemort was still leading and he was leading efficiently. There were no hallways the man had to backtrack or turn around in. It was if… as if the man had the layout of the manor already memorized.

"The gardens are out back, Lord Voldemort…" Aksel trailed off as they turned down a corridor that brought them away from the back entrance.

Voldemort hardly paused at Aksel's uncertainty. "I want to see the gardens _you_ enjoy visiting, child."

Aksel remained motionless as the man's words registered. The Dark Lord was walking toward the second-floor gardens, a room only Aksel and his mother visited. Only the Lystad family knew of those gardens and the employees who worked here.

"Come now," Voldemort reprimanded from a distance. "You didn't think I would walk into an enemy's territory so blindly, did you?"

Actually, he had. Aksel felt his face flush as he followed stiffly behind the cloaked figure. He didn't know what bothered him more; the fact that the British Dark Lord was able to get inside information on their family or that he had underestimated Voldemort just as his father had.

With new eyes, Aksel treaded softly, assessing the Dark Lord from beneath lowered lids. If Voldemort had thought so far ahead by scooping out the Lystad Manor, what else had the man schemed? Surely the Dark Lord hadn't left Britain without his army and with Lucius Malfoy as his sole source of backup. That thought only brought up more questions. What were Voldemort's true intentions coming here? Was it only to court Dagnar Lystad over to his cause? Or…

His thoughts tapered off as Voldemort pushed open a marble door. Reluctantly, Aksel followed, not finding the sound of rushing water as peaceful as he usually did.

"What pleases you so much about this place?" the Dark Lord murmured in question as he walked arrogantly across the glass bridge. The hem of his robes appeared like black silk as it cascaded across the smooth surface of the bridge. Clasping his hands behind his back, the British wizard peered around the garden room.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Aksel's eyes roamed the room. Overgrown vegetation was abundant in the level below their current position. Colors, far too exotic for Norway, bloomed and scented the air with musky and sweet fragrances. There was a small creek that ran the length of the room below, magically spelled to enhance the sound of water trickling across rocks and around masculine boulders.

The atmosphere was warm and a bit humid, but it was set to Aksel's and his mother's preferences.

Standing a few paces from the Dark Lord, Aksel mimicked the man's posture, clasping his hands confidently behind his back and planting his feet firmly on the glass beneath him. It was better to appear confident, even when he felt nothing of the sort. "If you can't see the answer yourself, My Lord, then I'm afraid you wouldn't understand its appeal."

Voldemort turned suddenly, observing him from beneath his deep hood. "You are Dagnar's heir, surely the stress of his politics drive you to this place, hmm? To seek… relaxation?" The word sounded too foreign on the man's tongue.

Aksel smiled thinly and turned his cheek on the man's piercing stare. In a way, the Dark Lord was right, but Aksel decided the man would always be right even if he were only throwing caution to the wind. "I suppose," he consented. "Though, can you imagine that it isn't offering me any relaxation at the moment?" he asked dryly.

A raspy chuckle responded. "You're amusing, child. It would be a personal insult if you _were_ relaxed."

Turning sharply, Aksel assessed the man. "Are you planning to kill me here? As a bitter sense of irony?" Behind his back, Aksel twisted his hands in slight unease but kept his face masked.

"You ask too many questions." The man waved a dismissive hand and placed it on the sturdy ledge of the bridge. Never once had his attention wavered from Aksel. Never. "I simply wanted your company before dinner and negotiations begin."

Aksel unclasped his hands, willing them not to tremble as he approached the edge of the bridge and stared at the vibrant garden. He had a sinking suspicion that Voldemort wanted Aksel here as a sort of shield. Did the Dark Lord believe Dagnar was going to assassinate him before dinner? Is that why the man lured Aksel to the second-floor gardens? To think Aksel was standing in the way of his father's plans to assassinate the Dark Lord made him a bit… uneasy. Dagnar would be furious.

He cast a sidelong glance at the Dark Lord. "Do you really want to negotiate with my father? Or are you here on other—"

Voldemort hissed lowly. "Did I not tell you that you ask too many questions? _I _ask the questions now." He suddenly advanced toward Aksel, ignoring the latter's stiffening. With a bone-white hand, the man reached out and pressed his finger against the underbelly of Aksel's chin, forcing the younger wizard to look up at him.

Aksel finally got a good eyeful of the world's most feared wizard from beneath the hood. Ugly wasn't exactly the best word to describe the Dark Lord, no, he was _frightening _but so… alluring. The nose was flat, the thin, almost non-existing lips were naturally turned into a sneer, and his eyes… his pupils were slit like a snake's and so red, they almost glowed in their intensity.

It was only a good second that Aksel was able to identify the most powerful Dark Lord. In the next second, his forehead split in two and Voldemort let out a fierce hiss, pulling away sharply as if the contact burned him.

Aksel had to close his eyes and press a palm to his forehead in order to ease the pain. Through watery eyes, he spied the Dark Lord with his back turned to him, seemingly nursing his hand.

When the pain began to fade, or, turn less intense, Aksel became aware of the laughing. He straightened and stared at the Dark Lord in disbelief.

"Fascinating," Voldemort purred, turning to eye Aksel from over his shoulder. His curled hand retreated into his sleeve, appearing almost as red as the man's eyes. "I had my suspicions, but this is delicious proof. _Delicious._"

Aksel took a step backward. "You're insane." It was almost as if the Dark Lord and Aksel were affected negatively upon skin contact. The Dark Lord's skin burned and Aksel received unbearable migraines. The question he wanted answered was _why_. Did his father do this? As protection?

"You and your mother are close, yes?" the Dark Lord asked suddenly, his whole demeanor changing. Gone was the gleeful insanity and in its place was a stable and calculative wizard.

Stiffening at the sensitive topic, Aksel sent the man of cool stare. "Like any son and his mother."

The Dark Lord inhaled and looked upward, as if seeing something only he could see. "She's ill? Is that why she wasn't present at the hall to greet me?"

Green eyes flashed. "If you already know the answer, why are you putting it in a form of a question?" The Dark Lord snapped his head down toward Aksel, causing the younger wizard to take a step back, his defensive barriers rising instantly. He placed a hand on his robe pocket, well aware of the wand waiting for his reach.

"You have defiance," Voldemort murmured, sounding oddly pleased before he frowned. "But not enough of it just yet. You are still too young, too naïve and too afraid. I can tell you've been raised as a proper pure-blood, full to the brim of the rituals of politics, magic, and life's lessons. But in order to fully come into those teachings, into your intended role, you need to have experience."

"I don't understand," Aksel confessed darkly. "I have _no _role."

"You are your father's heir, are you not?" Voldemort asked as if he were speaking to a child. "He is an influential man in Norway who has his reach across the Scandinavian region. If he dies, you need to step inside his shoes." Voldemort cocked his head to the side, smiling mockingly at Aksel. "Doubtless, you would fail miserably if that were to happen in the near future. I pity you, child. Norway will fall completely."

Aksel felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the man's hidden message, the unmistakable hint. "Don't touch him."

Voldemort clapped his hands once, cupping them together like that of a giddy witch. "You are so close, yet so far. Just because you are seventeen-years-old, does not make you an adult. Step out from behind your father's looming shadow and take the initiative. Maybe then you and I can dance properly."

With that being said, the Dark Lord brushed past a stunned Aksel and out the door.

Aksel slouched against the glass bridge and stared unseeingly across from him. He knew the Dark Lord planned to attack his father just as much as his father intended to attack the Dark Lord. Voldemort was confident enough in his ability to kill Dagnar that he could hint with Aksel about it. But why hint? Why encourage Aksel to grow stronger if Voldemort was just going to kill Dagnar and destroy Norway?

If Dagnar died, Aksel knew older, more experienced men would take over as the prominent man in Norway, doubtless of the fact that the Lystad mantle was the largest and most influential of Norway. More than likely, those men who would take the position of pure-blood royalty would be endorsed and controlled by Voldemort.

There _was _truth to what the Dark Lord warned. Aksel just wondered why the man had sent such a mixed signal. He wanted to kill Dagnar but he also encouraged Aksel to develop? Unless… _of course_. Voldemort was mocking him. The Dark Lord knew Aksel wouldn't be able to stop the attack on Dagnar. And in turn, he would make Aksel feel like a lost child by keeping him alive and struggling to prop up the Lystad pillar in Norway.

He grimaced, grabbing his wand. Whatever the case, Aksel wasn't going to stand by hopelessly and watch his father be killed. All his life, he was raised to respect Dagnar. Ever since he was a child, he saw how men stood by and risked their lives for his father. Dagnar could be a pompous arse, but he was also an influential man who held too much power to have it ripped from him. If he had to, Aksel would risk his own life to protect the man he came to respect.

**New Way to Bleed**

His steps were long and quick as he hurried to the dining hall. Dinner should have started five minutes ago; _he _should have been there ten minutes ago. Yet, he had been sitting in the second-floor gardens, mulling over the Dark Lord's words and preparing himself for the worse.

There was a lot to his father's work that he didn't know about. Granted, Aksel had attended many political meetings and he knew the names of the prominent men following Dagnar, but he didn't know enough to keep his head above the water if something were to happen. His father held so much control, control even the Minister of Norway was powerless to. The underhanded politics outside the Ministry was what influenced the workings _inside _the Ministry. The Magical community of Norway never had a particularly powerful Ministry. It was the pure-bloods who held the power here and in the Scandinavian region as a whole.

What frightened him the most was losing Dagnar and then proceeding to be walked over by the elders who possessed more experience and influence. Aksel would lose everything he was raised and bred to keep close; the Lystad dynasty, the money, the control.

While he didn't exactly enjoy it, politics and power _did_ give him a thrill and he was reluctant to lose the top position of Norway just to become a whipping boy for another wizard who wanted to take his father's place.

Beneath the insults and snide comments, Dagnar hadhinted that Aksel was improving and ready for the next step. But the conversation Aksel had with Voldemort made all the uncertainties come forth with an unstoppable force. Not to mention, the realizations that came with it.

Since a young child, he had known he was supposed to take over the Lystad dynasty. He just never really thought that day would come. He thought he would be learning at Durmstrang his whole life, staying young and naïve. And he thought Dagnar was immortal.

The startling awareness of mortality had been hard to swallow.

Aksel ran a hand through his loose curls, trying to manage his appearance before entering the dining hall.

All eyes turned in his direction.

He schooled his features, never pausing as he zigzagged through the maze of round tables and up to the head table where his father sat. He wasn't surprised to see the empty spot to Dagnar's left where his mother was supposed to sit. This past month had been hard on her health, as her illness had peaked.

"You're late," Dagnar growled, his disproval obvious in his tone. He nudged the chair out next to him with his foot. "Sit."

Aksel flashed Lord Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy a dark glower before settling rigidly in the chair next to his father. As soon as his back settled against the high back, the plates suddenly filled full of food and platters of luxurious dishes were spread evenly across the tables. The guests made appraising laments before the sound of silverware began to clash with the light orchestra playing in the balcony below.

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder and Aksel did his best to refrain from flinching.

"I'm sure you know Aksel attends Durmstrang Academy, no? I find Karkaroff does a good job with the students. Dumbledore, on the other hand, has gotten ripe in his old age." Dagnar flashed his teeth across the table at Lord Voldemort. "Then again, the man is still a thorn in your side. He is the reason you're here, I imagine."

Aksel ignored the painful hand on his shoulder in favor of studying Dagnar. Many would claim the man handsome with his sleek black hair tied handsomely at the nape of his neck, his pale skin and sharp features. Aksel inherited his father's dark hair and chiseled facial structures, along with his tall and lithe stature, but he mirrored his mother just as equally. Her loose curls had passed on to her son, just as the pale green eyes had. In all ways, Aksel was a perfect balance of mother and father.

It never came to a surprise to Aksel to hear Dagnar was the center of women's fantasies. Currently, his father sat at the head of the table, proud and regal. Even in the face of the Dark Lord's overwhelming aura, he somehow held a light of his own.

But in Aksel's eyes, Voldemort was the central figure in the room. Cloaked in dark robes, the man tried to pass off as being inconspicuous, though he didn't succeed very well. Even if the occupants of the party were so dim not to notice Voldemort's chilling aura, they were still drawn to the wizard out of fear and allure. Their eyes rarely left the Dark Lord and their bodies tended to gravitate subconsciously in the man's direction.

"Partly," Voldemort responded softly, his spidery fingers playing with the wine glass but refusing to sip from it. "Though, I must admit, your heir has caught my attention long enough to hold it. Interminably."

Aksel raised his eyes to the Dark Lord, frowning. What was the man playing at? His eyes flickered over to Lucius Malfoy, narrowing his gaze as the man held a hand up to his lips, veiling the mischievous smile.

Dagnar chuckled, his smile easy but his eyes hard. "Is that supposed to be a threat, My Lord?"

To the guests, they would appear good-natured in their conversation. However, the other pure-blood royalty of Norway were seated at the head table, silently listening and ready to act if necessary.

Voldemort wasn't in the mood to play games, it seemed. He straightened from his slouched position and leaned forward threateningly. "Did you think I would not _notice_? Fool. You try to wave him underneath my nose, parading him in front of me. You truly thought I would sniff and turn the other cheek—ignorant?"

Aksel placed his palms on the table, bracing himself in his offense. "I—"

"Silence," Dagnar ordered sharply, angling his body in order to veil his features from the guests. "I must admit that I… am ignorant on what you're hinting at, Lord Voldemort. Just as well, my son is oblivious of your claims of trickery being pulled."

The Dark Lord suddenly sat back, caressing his lips with a fingernail in contemplation. "You truly don't know…"

"Dumbledore's work?" Malfoy murmured to his Lord before being silenced just as abruptly as Aksel had.

The man really _was _insane, Aksel decided, staring at Voldemort with slight disenchantment. Such potential, such _power _and it was wasted on a mind that was not stable. And just when he had gotten intrigued. For so long, Aksel had interacted with stiff politicians and spoiled pure-blood children. On the bridge above the gardens, doubtless of the solemnity of their conversation, Aksel had enjoyed speaking with the Dark Lord. The man was blunt and he was dangerous, setting Aksel on edge in a delightful manner.

"No matter," Voldemort dismissed coolly, slowly collecting himself as if he sensed Aksel's less-than favorable perception of him. "Your ignorance of the boy's value aside, I am more than confident you know why I'm here."

Dagnar folded his hands on top the table, all four of their plates untouched between them. For a moment, Dagnar collected himself, intentionally spreading a silent tension across the table. "First, I must congratulate you on your accomplishment. Not many men can return from the grave, My Lord. And not many men can return whole."

Aksel pressed his lips together, preparing himself when he realized where this conversation was going. A part of him marveled at Dagnar's audacity. Usually his father was a lot more subtle and sly. Tonight, it appeared as if Dagnar just wanted Voldemort out of his hair. The move was bold and it was out of arrogance. Couldn't Dagnar sense the Dark Lord's sheer _power_? Was there something Aksel was failing to see that would give credibility to Dagnar's actions?

"Meaning?" Voldemort took the bait and pulled, forcing Dagnar's hand.

Obviously, Dagnar wasn't afraid to reveal his cards. He smiled thinly at the cloaked figure, his eyes hard and cruel. "Before your… fall, you were an ideal candidate to reinforce, Lord Voldemort." Dagnar raised his eyebrows. "But I'm afraid, since your rise, your careless and nonsensical actions have shed light to your less than stable mind frame. It is only proof that a man cannot defy Mother Nature, Voldemort. No man can return from death's embrace whole."

Aksel stiffened, clutching his wand beneath the table. His eyes were downcast and he could hear his pulse racing in his ears. Something was not right. His father's bold comments aside, Aksel could feel an obvious shift in the atmosphere. Even the drop of temperature around Voldemort was not what was causing Aksel's heightened disquiet.

"Equipping you with any army will only be adding fuel to the fire…" Dagnar continued, but somehow, it was murky. "Aksel?" the man suddenly inquired. "_Aksel_?"

Green eyes remained lowered, watching the water tremble inside its glass. From the water's reflection, he could see Dagnar lean closer, true concern lacing his murky features as he reached for Aksel. And then, from the corner of his eye, Aksel spied a jet of bright green light heading in his father's direction from above.

With quick reflexes, Aksel picked up the plate from the table and used it as a shield for his father. Seconds later, the spell connected with dishware, causing it to shatter into pieces.

The world stood still and silent.

And then a high-pitched cackle unfroze the occupants of Lystad Manor.

The guests at the round tables stood up, screaming in horror as the manor began to swarm with dark-clad wizards. The attackers were black mist-like forms as they Apparated and flew around the room, shooting spells at the guests as they ran for the exit. At the head table, the politicians were getting the brunt of the attack. The majority of them dived below the tables and used it as a shield to fire back. Others were cowardly and shrank fully underneath the table, refusing to defend themselves, or they just Disapparated away.

"Aksel," Dagnar growled, reaching for his son to pull him underneath the table.

But Aksel had other ideas. His eyes were on the black-mist heading in his father's direction, the very same individual most likely responsible for carrying out Dagnar's assassination. It was the same form that had shot the _Avada Kedavra_ at Dagnar earlier. The Apparation form must have been a woman, if the feminine laugh was anything to go by.

With a wide grin, Aksel reached boldly up and grabbed the Apparating woman. He was pulled out of his chair and off the ground as he was hauled alongside her. They didn't travel far before the woman was forced to turn tangible.

The two fell to the ground ungracefully. Aksel took the brunt of the collusion by having the woman's weight roll on top of him as they came to an abrupt hault. He found himself staring into unfathomable black eyes that possessed a derange spark. Wild black curls tumbled into his face as she giggled breathlessly down at him.

"A pretty boy," she exclaimed in triumph, her crooked teeth grinning. "I'll enjoy ripping your sweet face apart."

Adrenaline burned hotly through his body as Aksel brought his head back and slammed it into the woman's face. She gave a sharp cry of denial and pain as her nose cracked audibly. Aksel gave her no time to recover as he blasted her off his prone form, sending her flying across the room.

He jumped to his feet and hunched over, clutching his wand close to his chest as he mumbled a Latin incantation. It was obvious Voldemort's forces had torn down the Anti-Apparation wards around the Lystad Manor. A simple Anti-Apparation jinx around the room would solve the issue of the _flying_ wizards.

Aksel trembled from the force of the spell as he threw his right arm up and pointed his wand to the ceiling. Gold magic thrummed across the perimeter and Aksel's arm shook as he struggled to keep it raised. He watched in satisfaction as Voldemort's army dropped from the air like wounded birds, crying out as their body's Splinched from Aksel's jinx.

The furious battle-cry was what caused Aksel to drop his concentration, and in turn, drop the jinx around the room. No matter, it had served its purpose. The majority of Voldemort's army was on the ground, bloodied and injured.

He turned his attention on the woman charging and casting a Killing Curse. Aksel side-stepped the green curse, raising his wand and batting away the curses that came after the _Avada Kedavra_. He was reluctantly impressed this witch's speed and reflexes. Though, the only thing that bothered him was her lack of creativity. It was all Killing Curses, Cruciatus Curses, and the occasional Slicing Curse.

"My dear," Aksel breathed, nonverbally sending her an Electric-Shock Curse. "You need to gain a bit more originality with your spells. You're not selling me on the Dark Arts."

She breathed harshly through her nose, her eyes furious.

Before Aksel could see what else she had to offer, he was suddenly surrounded by men in sky-blue robes. "No!" Aksel cried out in denial as they blocked him from the woman across from him—from the fight and excitement.

Sheltering him was what they did best, after all. Ever since Aksel was a child, he hadn't been allowed to have fun, to get dirty, to stand in the face of danger.

They tried to grab for him, but Aksel fought back, realizing it was pointless. There were too many of them as they flooded the room and encircled him in a protective barrier. One of the men got physical and sent a powerful blow across Aksel's face. The man would later give the excuse that it was in the name of protection.

Aksel dropped to the ground and the mob of wizards followed. One of the men grabbed a Portkey and then reached for Aksel's fallen form.

Before the hand could come in contact, Aksel sluggishly moved his eyes to the side, the world spinning from the blow to his head. Unfortunately, the blow hadn't been hard enough to block out the sight of Dagnar's lifeless corpse laying only a few feet away from him. Bile rose up in the back of Aksel's throat. If he hadn't been so absorbed in his own duel, he might have been able to save his father. That _arsehole_, that hard-arse and abusive wizard… was still his father.

Green eyes rose further, locking eyes with the Dark Lord. Aksel gave a roar of anger and fury, delirious from the sudden onslaught of loss. A hard, unforgiving hand closed around his arm and he was whisked away from the Lystad Manor and into protective custody.

* * *

**Notes:** A note about the Apparation mist in this chapter: Basically, it's the mist-like blurs that we saw in the movies (like the Department of Mysteries battle). _P.s. Chapter Two should be up shortly. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **There are alternative opinions when it comes to defining the '_Scandinavian area_'_/Nordic countries_. Some believe it's only Norway, Sweden, and Denmark. However, in this story, I'm adding Finland & Iceland to that list. :) Also, the Wizarding politics DO _NOT_ mirror Muggle politics. Whoever may be an ally of one country in the Muggle world may not be so in the Wizarding world.

**Chapter Two**

Aksel exhaled softly as the women flocked around him, adjusting his suit and tie. They fussed after his hair, trying to keep it in proper place. He stood patiently, allowing them to do their job, but as one of the stylists reached for a flask of hair product, Aksel turned his shoulder abruptly and took a step away from the group of wardrobe professionals.

"That will be all, thank you ladies," he remarked smoothly. Pale green eyes swept past their admiring expressions before offering his watchful mother a meaningful look. "I have bigger things to worry about than my appearance."

She waved a delicate hand, agreeing with him nonverbally. "You've been waiting for this day for over three years, Aksel. It's only natural you're nervous."

Aksel shot her a cool look from over his shoulder as he adjusted his tie, much to the displeasure of the women standing on the sidelines. "Whatever gave you the impression that I'm nervous, mother? Like you've said, today has been four years overdue. And after twenty-one years of preparation, I can finally take my rightful spot in Norway."

His words sounded bitter to his own ears and they were even harder to swallow. Was it really _his_ right to lead Norway and the Scandinavian region? Or was he simply becoming his mother's new façade to hide behind? Aksel stared gloomily in the mirror's reflection, his gaze paying special attention to the woman he came to admire and despise over the past four years. Before those four years, he would have never dared to think so lowly of her. But now, the hate was far too consuming. There was only one person he hated more than his mother.

Himself.

The blonde witch watched her son in amusement, her perfectly sculptured body merging into the dark backdrop of the side chamber. "Your father would be proud of you."

Aksel scoffed softly, mindful of their attentive audience. If Dagnar Lystad was still alive, the man would have taken pity on Aksel. He would have also felt relieved to step down and give his son the duty of parading around Norway for the merriments of Marie Lystad, the true force behind it all.

It had been a distressing blow for Aksel when he found out about his mother's true intentions. All he had ever known was a gentle, loving woman who appeared far too frail and far too ill to conjure up a devious, yet ingenious scheme. It seemed like so long ago that her warm palms had stroked his cheek as they sat in their garden. So long ago, he had offered his trust to the woman he now kept at arm's length.

Since that day, since the day of Dagnar's death, Aksel had grown and matured, looking at the world with both contempt and wariness.

_**Four Years Ago**_

As soon as they Portkeyed away from the Lystad Manor, away from his father's corpse, Aksel didn't have a chance to recover from the ordeal. The blue-clad wizards grabbed a hold of Aksel and dragged him down a series of dark passage ways. Looking around desperately, Aksel couldn't pinpoint his exact location. The corridors were dingy and shady, completely unrecognizable. Turning this way and that, Aksel couldn't hope to keep track of their progress down the halls.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded hysterically.

A few of the faces that gripped and surrounded him were familiar. Aksel's childhood consisted of these guards who stood by solitary and watched his every move. Those guards put Aksel's wellbeing above their own. And while Aksel didn't exactly trust them, he was familiar enough with them to know they were loyal to the Lystad family. But even a loyal man could stray over the prospect of a higher reward.

Instead of responding to Aksel's demand, the group turned down another sharp corner, dragging the younger wizard forcibly.

One of the wizards opened a door and pushed Aksel inside. "Stay here until further notice," the short and stout wizard commanded.

Aksel stumbled into the room, his thoughts a whirlwind. The door slammed shut behind him and he could hear the unmistakable sound of charms reinforcing his confinement. He did nothing to stop his knees from giving out. With child-like desperation, Aksel drew his legs close and hugged them selfishly. As soon as his forehead fell on top of his knees, his pale eyes closed tightly.

He had never held any warm and affectionate feelings for Dagnar Lystad. His father was a business man and a royal pure-blood.

Though, while Dagnar and Aksel never traded heartfelt croons, he _had_ come to respect and look up to his father. Dagnar was his _father_. Seeing the all-powerful politician lying so broken and lifeless at the feet of Lord Voldemort was… _unbearable_ to think on.

Aksel issued a dry sob, refusing to cry. Everything felt disorganized, uncertain. Questions raced through his head, some heavy and some stupidly impractical. What would become of him now? Where was his father's body? His mother! What of her? Was the Lystad Dynasty in shambles now that Dagnar was dead and Aksel too inexperienced to hold the mantle?

Endless, the questions were endless. But somehow, focusing on the questions brought him away from the one thing that was eating away at him.

Guilt.

He could have prevented Dagnar's death. He knew he could have at least stalled long enough until help arrived. If he hadn't been so overwhelmed and consumed with the adrenaline of battle, he would have watched over his father more closely. Doubtless, Lord Voldemort was more powerful than Aksel, but he could have at least taken the initiative to protect Dagnar with his life. It was his initial plan, so why had he become so oblivious to everything but the heat of battle?

And Voldemort! Aksel snapped his eyes opened and he growled shakily. Certainly Dagnar had seen the attack coming. Why had he been so foolish enough to invite the Dark Lord in their home and then proceed to insult and reject any alliance the Englishman had to offer? Had there been a foil to Dagnar's plans?

Voldemort's attack had been expected, but that didn't mean Aksel had to accept it.

Suddenly, the door clicked open and Aksel unfolded from his vulnerable position and stood up unsteadily. His hand went to his pocket where he kept his wand, on edge and prepared just in case security wasn't up to standards.

"Aksel."

The woman who glided into the room caused Aksel to slump in relief, his hand dropping from his concealed wand. "Mother," Aksel breathed. Instead of running to her like he would normally find himself doing, Aksel took an uncertain step backward, eyeing her in distrust.

Marie Lystad, known for her ice-like beauty, was diagnosed with cancer five years ago. While the treatments had kept her alive for all those years, it had taken a toll on her appearance. Her face had sunken, her glow had dimmed, her hair had fallen out long ago, and her eyes were always sickly.

But now…

It was an entirely different witch staring back at him. Her platinum blonde hair was knotted in a long tail at the nape of her neck, looking as if it had never seen a day of hardship. Her pale green eyes were just as bright as the days before the cancer. The way she held herself, full of pride and confidence, was clearly not the posture of a woman on her death bed.

It wasn't the witch Aksel had grown up doting on, had grown up relying on. The woman before him looked cold and powerful.

"Don't look so startled, Aksel, it distorts your loveliness." Wearing a gown as pale as her champagne-colored hair, Marie glided over to Aksel and reached out a hand to touch his cheek.

He reared away from the touch he had grown accustomed to since a young child. Somehow, it was not the same hand, and it was especially not the same woman who offered him security. Opening his mouth to speak, Aksel struggled, realizing it was impossible to find the right words.

Her smile taunted him and her eyes were concentrated. "You should sit before you faint, my son." She walked around him and toward the couch. Grabbing the train of her dress in one hand, Marie sat down gracefully, patting the spot next to her. "We have much to discuss."

Aksel braced his palms against the wall behind him, too stubborn and shell-shocked to follow her suggestion. "Father's dead," Aksel began stupidly, his eyes tracing over Marie's indifferent expression. "But you already knew."

"I knew," Marie assented quietly, surely. Her nimble fingers curled as she placed a neatly painted fingernail against her bottom lip. Just like the Dark Lord had done earlier that night, Marie refused to take her eyes off her son, gauging his reactions and actions.

"You did nothing to stop it…" Aksel trailed off, too troubled to continue. A greasy sensation erupted painfully in the pit of his stomach as he began to connect the dots. The Death Eaters had been able to tear down the Lystad wards without setting off the alarms. Even the guards were conveniently absent long enough for Dagnar to reach his demise. _"Why?" _Aksel asked hoarsely, staring at the stranger across from him.

"Dagnar was growing too arrogant, too comfortable with the power." Her green eyes sparkled. "Let that be a lesson to you, Aksel. Arrogance is necessary for such a position as Dagnar's, but when you let it affect your reasoning, it will be your downfall." Marie shook her head, causing her long tail of hair to spill over her shoulder. "I did nothing to stop him from digging his own grave, no. However, I wasn't going to let him drag you down with him. I cannot have my son—my heir— paying for his father's mistakes."

Aksel bowed his head, her voice ringing in his ears. While her tone still possessed the gentle undertones, it was also more confident and deeper than he remembered. How could he live with this woman and be so blind to the true person underneath? Was he that thick? Or was his mother just that good?

Slowly, he lifted his chin and leveled her with a cool stare. "He was my father."

Something seemed to amuse Marie, for her eyes gleamed and sparkled madly. "That he was," she agreed dryly. "But even you should realize how foolish he was, Aksel. Lord Voldemort was going to kill Dagnar either way."

"But you wanted him dead!" Aksel shouted, throwing an accusing hand in her direction. "You _knew _what was going to happen. Hell, you all but opened the front door for the Death Eaters. Dagnar's blood stains your hands just as much as any other."

Marie settled further against the couch, not at all fazed by his outburst. "If that makes you rest easier, my sweet child, then yes, I am to blame just as much as the Dark Lord." Her painted lips parted and began to curl upwards. "How did you find the Dark Lord? Was he every bit insane as Dagnar believed?" Her eyes narrowed. "Did he find _you_ irresistible?"

He stared. Her tone was casual as she asked after Voldemort. Her husband was dead, and yet, she was sitting easily, as if she were testing out her newfound freedom. "Who are you?" Aksel hissed in disgust.

Marie suddenly shook her head, disappointment creasing her face. "We raised you better than this, Aksel. You are royalty and you are the prince of politics. You were born into deceit and betrayal, all for the better gain." The witch unfolded from the sofa and slowly began to approach a motionless Aksel. "Men who wrap nooses around their necks should not warrant a second thought from you. Mistakes like Dagnar's are unacceptable in this family. And I will not have a son who cringes away and sulks like a pathetic child."

Aksel flinched but she was quicker. Cold hands grabbed his jaw, turning him forcibly to meet her eyes. If Marie was angry, she was doing a fine job of concealing it behind a veil of mocking concern. Forced to do nothing else, he stared at her, silently acknowledging the sliver of hate intensifying underneath the suffocating cloud of betrayal.

"I am the true force behind the Scandinavian region, Aksel," Marie informed equably.

"That's impossible," Aksel argued, "the Board has never acknowledged you. They only accepted Dagnar as their leader—"

"The Board of Prominent Pure-Bloods is a group of men who only want recognition. They are _nothing._ Don't you ever wonder why Scandinavians tuck their tails between their legs for pure-blood royalty? It's because more powerful wizards and witches are agreeing to stay obedient. And I control every last one." The stern lines across her face softened as she lovingly caressed Aksel's loose curls. "It's an unfamiliar world outside the Board, my son. You wouldn't last a day without proper protection. But don't worry; I plan to finish what your father started."

Uncertainty clawed at his chest. A part of him wondered if he should believe Marie's boasts. The Board was powerful. It included a handful of pure-blood royalty from each country across the Scandinavian region. Together, they dictated the on-goings of their countries, leaving the deciding vote to the Head. Dagnar had once held the Board in his fist. To imagine he was actually acting on behalf of Marie made Aksel _sick. _

And then Marie's last words suddenly hit him. With Dagnar dead, Aksel would now have to shoulder the manipulations and commands from the woman he had once pledged his undying loyalty to. In the end, he would be just as much as a puppet as Dagnar was. Each day, he would have to wonder if Marie would cut his strings just as cruelly as she had done to Dagnar.

If Marie really did have deeper connections throughout the Scandinavian region, Aksel knew he could do nothing but bow his head. Power exuded from Marie, so much so that it would be impossible for someone to fabricate. Her claims were not false and Aksel hated himself for not seeing it before.

She crooned as soon as she saw the defeat in his eyes. "You will make me proud, Aksel. We must train hard these next few years. It will be a difficult time for you, but I will always be here for you."

Their embrace was tense and full of falsified devotion. He stared at the wall from over her shoulder, the image of Dagnar's broken body flashing before his eyes. Dagnar _had _grown too conceited. Not only for inviting Lord Voldemort into his home, but for turning a shoulder to Marie. Aksel vowed he would never make his father's mistake. He would feign arrogance, but remain sharp and calculating underneath it all.

If there was one thing this tragedy taught him, it was to never trust anyone. Not even family could be trusted.

Green eyes narrowed as Marie tightened her arms around him. He would learn from her. And he was more than ready to use it against her.

_**Present Time**_

Four years had passed since that night. He had been trained ruthlessly by Marie in the depths of their hideout. The outside world eventually began to believe Aksel had died in the attack with his father. Only occasional was Aksel allowed to leave their lair on assignments for his mother, a training exercise, she claimed. But those very few times were in the middle of the night and under the heavy folds of a cloak.

Marie, however, made occasional appearances above ground. She played the part of a grieving widow, all the while, making certain the Lystad estate was well-looked after. Their servants and guards kept watch over their hideout, their loyalty almost unnaturally strong.

When Marie was with Aksel, she hounded him with endless training. Lessons of languages, politics, dueling, blackmail, physical training, and even methods of persuasion were relentlessly hammered into Aksel. He knew the name and face of every important figurehead, every pure-blood, and he knew the dirt on each man and woman he would or might interact with. The things he learned unsettled him at first, but over time, he came to enjoy it.

In every way, Marie robbed him of any shred of innocence he tried to hold onto. He once promised himself he would use the information he learned to take down Marie. Overtime, that vow seemed to stretch further and further away from his reach. Each day that passed in her presence seemed to tighten the restraints that tied him to her. His hate only grew for her, but so did his admiration and dependence.

He was not a fool. He _knew _he had been manipulated to depend on Marie. It was her intentions since he was a child, relying on her for comfort when Dagnar grew too harsh. And now, he was relying on her as the only central figure in his life; his mentor, his friend, his mother, his enemy. Her presence consumed him and it was _extremely _binding.

Though, knowledge was a powerful tool. Knowing he was being manipulated helped ease the hold Marie had on him.

There was still a shred of his old self left within him, reminding him of his vow. He wanted to destroy Marie, he wanted his freedom, but he wondered if he would be able to go through with it, especially the longer time stretched on.

He had dreams sometimes, dreams that enforced his thirst for freedom and revenge. Darkness always swallowed him and a voice just as dark whispered to him. At times, Aksel was able to look into the eyes of Lord Voldemort as the man criticized him for being so weak. When he woke up in cold sweat, his forehead always burning, he wondered why he had to dream of the man that put him into this position.

Other nights, he would sometimes have dreams of looking through the eyes of Lord Voldemort, especially when the man was enraged. Voldemort seemed to know when he was present, but never pushed him away.

Those times were few and far between and Aksel assumed his imagination was creating them as a sign of his lost independence. Voldemort represented the bridge between his old and new self. He was a reminder of all things before Marie. It was the only explanation Aksel could conjure and he refused to go to his mother and ask her.

After all, Marie was an expert at what she did. She would take every weakness of Aksel's and use it against him. She would find his dreams a sign of how pathetic he was. Her methods of teaching Aksel varied significantly from Dagnar's. Why slap him around when she could use words just as sharp?

"Are you feeling well, Lord Lystad?" a man murmured next to him.

Aksel turned away from his reflection and glanced at the blue-clad guard next to him. He had recently been assigned three personal guards, all top in their class. This one, with his blond floppy hair, seemed familiar to Aksel. They were around the same age, but those days at Durmstrang seemed so indistinct to him. He wouldn't recognize his old classmates like he used to.

"We will be keeping each other company for quite some time," he began, "you may call me Aksel." His pale eyes swept over to the other two guards, a bit surprised to note one of them a female. "You two as well."

He didn't wait for them to respond or even introduce themselves. He didn't care. They were most likely just as chained to Marie Lystad as he was. Their eyes would be hers when she wasn't in his presence.

"Are the reporters all present?" Aksel turned his attention on Marie. He noticed she was displeased with the way he treated his personal guards. In her eyes, Aksel was supposed to be friendly to everyone. He would gather more supporters that way.

"They are all gathered," she reassured, pushing off from the wall and making her way out the chamber.

Aksel followed, aware of the wardrobe women whispering between themselves and sneaking sly glimpses in his direction. He ignored them but kept his attentiveness open. Even if his back were turned, he would still be conscious of an attack that came from behind, even if it was from someone who appeared as harmless as a wardrobe woman.

They walked through the corridors of Lystad Manor and toward the great hall. It had been four years since he'd walked the halls of his childhood home. And this morning, it had been the first time since Dagnar's death that he had greeted the sun and felt the warmth its rays had to offer. His cheeks were still rosy from standing and embracing the sun for so long.

"Are you ready?" Marie's voice floated toward him from further ahead.

He knew what her question entailed. He always knew. "If I wasn't, you know I wouldn't be walking this corridor." She would have never released her talons from him if he wasn't completely under her control. Either she had seen something in him that indicated he was ready or they were simply running out of time.

Marie didn't respond. She leaned against the corner, just outside the large hall. The hall itself was set up for a conference and the sounds of men and women murmuring amongst each other could clearly be heard. Aksel toed the edge between the corridor and the hall. Oddly enough, he wasn't nervous. Instead, a powerful feeling of excitement washed through him at the prospect of finally putting everything together, of finally having slack on his leash.

Inhaling deeply, Aksel crossed into the hall, its bright lighting critical for the photographers and audience. With long and fluid steps, he approached the podium and climbed up the three steps. The crowd quieted, their eyes sharp and watchful, intrigued with the striking young man standing confidently at the podium.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," Aksel greeted warmly. Subconsciously, he was aware of a few guards standing behind him. The audience would be too enthralled with him to pay any attention to the extra security detail.

The reporters would likely speculate on his identity. After all, they _were _currently standing in the Lystad Manor. But the public suspected he died four years ago. There would be doubt until he announced his identity himself.

"As all of you know, Knut Foresberg is the Head of the Prominent Pure-blood Board. He has been an active leader for the last four years, taking the mantle from Dagnar Lystad after his assassination. Mr. Foresberg has lead Norway through a period of uncertainty and did a truly outstanding job." Aksel paused, curling his fingers around the podium. "Unfortunately, Knut Foresberg passed away this morning caused by an untreatable heart attack."

He let the words sink in to the surprised audience. It was breaking news after all. If Marie hadn't been indirectly involved with Knut's death, it would have shocked Aksel just as well. Knut had no family, only security that didn't make it a habit of guarding the politician when he was sleeping. A heart attack would be easily explained as natural causes.

Aksel glanced down at his podium, the only sign of discomfort. For being underground for so long, it would take a while to deal with the harsh lights, even more so the uncensored cries of outrage and shock from the crowd.

Allowing enough time pass, Aksel continued once again. "It is because of this unfortunate tragedy that I have agreed to accept the legacy of my late father. I, Aksel Lystad, will now take the position of the Head of the Prominent Pure-blood Board."

And the reporters stood and the flashes began. Questions were thrown in his direction and cries of surprise and relief danced the hall. Aksel kept his shoulders back, his chin lifted, and his eyes on the crowd. It took a bit of control to keep the smug smirk from showing, and inside, he was chuckling in delight. The Board had no idea what was coming. They were entirely clueless to his survival and they would find out about his declaration of being the new Head through the newspapers.

Of course, he _would _have to schedule a meeting with them. Sooner rather than later. Aksel couldn't have them running their mouths to the press, claiming they hadn't agreed on any move of action. But it wasn't up to the members of the Board to vote on the new Head. No, this was Aksel's _right_, his birth right. Knut had taken it from him when Dagnar was killed.

It was time for Norway and its allies to be held by their rightful owner.

"It has been a long four years," Aksel continued. "My young age may hinder many of your judgments, but rest assured, I have received superior training for this position. Not only was I born into this role, but Dagnar raised me with the assumptions that I would someday take his place. After his death, my knowledge has only grown significantly."

Aksel inhaled, pitching his voice lower and fiercer. "I vow to uphold the sturdy nation that Dagnar built and Knut Foresberg continued. While my reign will be much like Dagnar's, I am my own man. I will continue to make improvements for our nation and I will stop at nothing less."

Leaning away from his position, Aksel breathed deeply, his ears being drowned by questions.

It would certainly be a long night.

And he would enjoy every minute of it.

**New Way to Bleed**

Lucius raced through the halls of his Lord's manor, traveling as fast as his legs could carry him without resulting in a sprint. In his hands, he held news of the boy the Dark Lord had ordered Lucius to watch four years ago. Four years had passed without a sound leak of the Norwegian boy's whereabouts, until now. Gone was the struggling boy on the cusp of manhood, and in its place, was a young man who had enough confidence for his country as a whole.

"Enter," the Dark Lord rasped from the other side of the door.

Swallowing to compose himself, the blond entered one of the rooms his Lord liked to occupy during his free time. Humid air welcomed Lucius as he closed to door behind him. Pale grey eyes swept the room, no longer surprised at the sight that greeted him. It _had, _initially, surprised him when he realized what the Dark Lord was doing. In fact, four years ago, weeks after they returned from Norway, the Dark Lord took on the domestic hobby of _gardening. _

Lucius didn't know what had spurred the man's interest to something so mundane and… Muggle, but the blond wisely kept quiet. Admittedly, there were some wizards and witches who brought gardens alive with articulate sculptures and artistic shrub-modeling. He should know. Lucius had a hand-picked staff of gardeners at his manor.

Though, the Dark Lord's taste of vegetation left much to be desired. Granted, it fit the man's personality completely. Sharp, thorny vines and weeds grew among the exotic trees. The shrubs in the room were tall, towering over Lucius from his position by the door. There were _some _plants with color and they were treated preciously by the Dark Lord, almost possessively. Lucius was knowledgeable enough in the art of gardening to notice those plants were native to the Scandinavian region, Norway to be exact.

Whatever transpired between the Norway boy and the Dark Lord was enough to have an impact on Lord Voldemort.

Lucius bowed forward, unable to pinpoint the man's position inside the room. No matter, he was forbidden to step into the garden. His place was on the brick patio by the door.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord greeted silkily from somewhere to his right. "How… unexpected."

Highly unlikely. Lucius was the only Death Eater allowed permission inside this room. The others were blind to the man's new hobby, as most of them would be distraught with the knowledge. Lucius liked to think he was the Dark Lord's most trusted follower, able to hear his Lord's more closely-held plans and secrets.

"My Lord," Lucius returned the greeting before straightening. "I have news you would be most pleased to hear."

"Indeed?" the Dark Lord murmured in question, still thickly veiled in his own world.

Over the sound of placid running water, Lucius could hear the unmistakable sound of hissing. Color drained from his face as he deciphered the sound not too far from his position. There were serpents in the garden, Lucius knew. In fact, the hissing had grown in both volume and quantities since his last visit. He knew the Dark Lord bred serpents and he wouldn't be surprised to know the garden was a way to keep his pets occupied.

It made Lucius wonder what other experiments the Dark Lord was hiding in the depths of the garden.

He cleared his throat. "Aksel Lystad has appeared in public, My Lord. At the fledgling age of twenty-one, the boy has announced to Norway that he will step up and take his father's mantle as pure-blood royalty." Silence met his statement and Lucius continued, gazing down at the letter in his hand. "Of course, the world is in uproar. As you know, Norway influences the Scandinavian region. They believe the boy is too young to hold such a position—too naïve. Other countries, Britain in particular, are viewing this as a political opportunity to take advantage of the Lystad dynasty and gain Norway's power."

The Wizarding communities of Norway and Britain had never been particularly strong allies. From early centuries to the 1960's, Britain was the powerhouse of the Wizarding World. They were the first to establish a school, Hogwarts, and they were the first to construct a legalized and central government for the wizards under their jurisdiction. Many things spiraled since, and Britain grew leaps and bounds.

Even now, Britain was a strong force. And yet, since the 1960's, the Scandinavian region began to soar just as well, becoming a noticeable competitor to the West. When Britain was busy getting fat off their own power, Norway was sprinting behind the scenes, gathering their own force. They were the sole ruler of the Scandinavians, having control over Iceland, Greenland, Denmark, Finland, and even Sweden.

Now that there was a war brewing in Britain, they were seeking assistance from Norway. Having a young man—a boy— in charge of Norway was a god-sent gift. Aksel had the power to push the Norwegian Minister whichever way he fancied and Britain would jump at a chance to take advantage.

Certainty Aksel Lystad was raised rightfully to see the manipulations of politicians?

"I am impressed, Lucius, at your promptness." The Dark Lord chuckled underneath his breath, as if he found humor in his words. "After four years of having _inside _contacts, you were finally able to bring me news."

Lucius flushed at the mocking tone. Though, he did not blame the Dark Lord. His contacts in Norway had turned sour and he was unable to get a pinpoint on the boy's location after the attack on Lystad Manor.

"Unfortunately, your _promptness _was bested. I may need to consider replacing you, my slippery friend." From the opposite direction Lucius was looking, the Dark Lord emerged stealthily from the foliage. His hood was down, revealing the repulsed scowl and the sharp crimson eyes.

"Replaced?" Lucius inquired, licking his bottom lip uncertainly. Surely the Dark Lord did not have others who had better contacts than Lucius?

Instead of answering, the Dark Lord tossed a newspaper at Lucius' feet. The _Daily Prophet _grinned up at Lucius, revealing a photograph of Aksel Lystad. For a brief second, Lucius admired the photograph, highly impressed with the boy's appearance. A _Quibbler _was then tossed on top of the _Prophet, _revealing the same headlines, the same photos. Not seconds later, a _Golden Vault _was added to the pile.

Much to Lucius' horror, the last bundle to land at his feet was _Witch Weekly_, alerting the witches to a new bachelor of Norway's pure-blood royalty. Through his horror, Lucius wondered if the Dark Lord had truly subscribed to _Witch Weekly_, but then hurriedly pushed that thought away.

He fell to his knees, bowing his head and releasing the letter in his hands. "My Lord," he whispered fretfully, sensing the unavoidable punishment. "I had no idea—"

"Of course you didn't, you fool," the Dark Lord hissed. "Perhaps I should contact the sources at _Witch Weekly _and request a personal advocate. So far, they have turned out to be a better source of information than you, the very same individual who reassured me that he had contacts that spread across the globe."

Face growing red at being compared to the editors at _Witch Weekly_, Lucius kept silent, knowing when to speak and when to remain quiet.

"Fortunate for you, I am in a good mood tonight." The Dark Lord's bare feet slapped silently across the brick patio, nearing Lucius. "I must be logical about this, no? The boy was heavily guarded, _of course_ your wretched sources wouldn't have a chance to report the boy's location. You are lucky I was able to keep tabs on the boy myself, otherwise, your lack of delivery would have tried my patience."

Despite the degrading jab at his trusted sources, Lucius' attention was immediately grabbed by the Dark Lord's confession. It was impossible, surely. If Lucius wasn't able to get any information on Aksel Lystad through his own men, then how had the Dark Lord achieved it? Was the man simply boasting? Did he have a lot more connections than Lucius knew about? Unless…

His eyebrows rose. "My Lord," he began hesitantly, "do you still believe the boy is… Harry Potter?" The name was bitter on Lucius' tongue. Harry Potter. A mere child capable of bringing down a powerful Dark Lord? Unthinkable! And yet, if Aksel Lystad was truly Harry Potter, then he may have a sort of connection to the Dark Lord, which would explain the man being able to keep tabs on the boy.

After that attack at Lystad Manor those many years ago, Lucius knew he was not welcome to talk about either Aksel or Harry Potter. His questions regarding the boy weren't answered and the Dark Lord grew sour. A quick _Crucio _would hit Lucius if he pushed too far.

Tonight, though, with the boy's sudden reappearance, Lucius was willing to push his luck.

"I don't _believe_ the boy is Harry Potter, I know he is. Don't question me again regarding his identity. The boy's true parentage will not be leaked until I wish it." There was true threat in the Dark Lord's tone.

Lucius gradually lifted his eyes off the ground, peering at the Dark Lord through the fall of his hair. The wizard had turned his back to Lucius and ventured closer to the gardens. Lucius watched him breathlessly, frightened and completely enthralled with the man's powerful grace. Power stuck to the man, drawing Lucius in but also warning him of the need for complete submission.

"Dumbledore," Lucius began quietly, "is responsible for Potter's current position, correct? Dagnar Lystad knew nothing about it."

"The old fool has never stopped looking for his prodigal pawn. No, Dumbledore had nothing to do with Potter's current position. In fact, I am now more certain that Marie Lystad had a hand in his kidnapping. The mother."

Lucius glanced down at the newspapers, tracing the sharp and handsome features of Aksel. There was no hint of Lily or James Potter in the boy's features. He resembled the late Dagnar Lystad and the mother whom Lucius had never formally met. There were rituals to alter a child's appearance to take after his adoptive parents, mostly used by pure-bloods who could not conceive their own children. But was there a ritual strong enough to hinder tracking spells, especially spells that were cast by a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore?

And if Dumbledore wasn't able to get a solid lead on Harry Potter, how had the Dark Lord known instantly who Aksel Lystad truly was? Most likely the same way he was able to keep tabs on the boy. Lucius knew he was missing a piece of vital information and he also knew that the Dark Lord would never divulge that piece of information.

"The mother?" Lucius murmured quietly, knowing the Dark Lord would hear him no matter how far away he stood. "If she is the individual standing in your way to possess the boy, then why not kill her? I have never heard of Dagnar's wife, only in brief passing."

Lord Voldemort gave a raspy chuckle, standing on the outskirts of the garden. His long and thin fingers reached out to touch a purple flower, petting it. "Do you find gardens relaxing, Lucius?"

The blond wizard looked puzzled at the change of subject and a bit worried. "I… to a certain degree, My Lord."

"Indeed," the Dark Lord mused. "A wizard once confessed that they were a source of relaxation for him. I decided to try my hand at it, but I came to the conclusion that gardens truly are… uninteresting."

Lucius cleared his throat. He knew exactly why gardens did not have the same effect on the Dark Lord. The man just didn't know _how_ to relax. "I think that is the point of relaxation, My Lord. One does not have to overtax their mind when they are in the garden. They prefer not to think on anything. Though, for a genius wizard such as yourself, I believe you would find it difficult to rest your mind and truly enjoy what the garden has to offer."

The Dark Lord considered his words with careful deliberation. Suddenly, his fingernails curled into the violet flower and pierced the petals. "Perhaps you may be right," he began, "but I believe I'm only missing something that would make it truly enjoyable."

Lucius wondered what else the garden could possibly need. And then, a dark forbidding curled his stomach when he realized the Dark Lord was not considering a new plant for his collection. As if in a daze, he watched as the petals spilled to the ground due to the ministrations of the Dark Lord. The tall wizard suddenly turned to Lucius, the crimson eyes piercing straight through him. Lucius quickly lowered his eyes in compliance.

"Marie Lystad is a part of a web, Lucius. One simply does not unravel a few strings and expect the web to stay standing. She is not the docile wife of a pure-blood wizard. In all ways, she is a lethal threat. You'd be surprised to know what a twisted and manipulative woman she truly is. She makes Dagnar Lystad look like a petty wizard struggling to keep up." The Dark Lord walked toward Lucius once again, his black cloak draping across the floor but never once getting in his way. "She is the true face behind the Scandinavian power."

It can't be. To know she hides behind the scenes and lets her enemies believe she is not the true force was _ingenious, _but it was also cowardly. If the Dark Lord believed Marie Lystad was a threat, than Lucius shuddered to imagine facing her.

"The boy," Lucius suddenly exclaimed. "He's the new face she's hiding behind. Surely he will be targeted. We could kill her—"

"I've told you once, Lucius, that it is not that simple," the Dark Lord hissed, causing Lucius to cower. "She holds the Scandinavians in her palm. We would have our hands full with not only Britain, but a whole traffic of her powerful allies. Not to mention, the boy would stop at nothing to destroy us."

Lucius paused. He was unsure of his Lord's true intentions toward the boy. "She kidnapped him as a baby. She all but invited us to kill Dagnar. Surely the boy would be relieved at her demise?"

"He's spent four years in isolation with only his mother for company. Don't think she wouldn't take advantage of that and manipulate the boy to sit nicely under her thumb."

A sneer marred Lucius' face. "He is weak if he fell under her control." He couldn't imagine Draco being so foolish and following Narcissa blindly. A proper mother and son had boundaries, especially pure-bloods. The heir would rise up to take his father's place, certainly not under a woman's influence.

Suddenly, a hand descended on his head and began patting mockingly. Lucius' cheeks burned and he kept his eyes directed to the ground.

"Think what you wish of the boy, Lucius. The root of the matter is that Aksel Lystad must be the one to destroy the woman." The hand suddenly fisted in Lucius' blond locks and forcibly pulled back the man's neck. A joint snapped and the man issued a breathless grunt. The Dark Lord leaned forward, a repulsed sneer across his face. "It's time for the boy to come home, Lucius. I will give you one last chance to redeem yourself. Find a way to bring Aksel to Britain."

Norway had no dealings with Britain. Having the boy come here would be virtually impossible.

Unless…

The Dark Lord flung him to the ground. "I will be most displeased if I must do it myself."

Lucius scrambled quickly to his feet and bowed low at his waist. "Yes, My Lord. I will not fail you. The boy will make an appearance."

A sly smile crossed Lucius' lips. The pure-bloods of Norway may have complete control over their Ministry, but Lucius had a bit of power himself. He would be able to subtly influence Britain's government into setting up an arranged meeting with Aksel.

The boy would be in the Dark Lord's hands by the end of the month. He was certainly looking forward to how things would turn out.

* * *

_**Note**: Expect chapter three sometime before the end of the weekend. Thanks for reading! _


	3. Chapter 3

**Note on OCs**: There will be OCs, but I won't overpower the story with them. I favor the HP Canon characters far more than original ones. While some of you may be impatient with this chapter and lack of Harry-interaction with characters you know, it is still very important to the story.

_Thanks to those of you who reviewed. _

**Chapter Three **

It was a _good_ day.

"Hello gentlemen," Aksel greeted brightly as he walked past the protesting guard at the entrance. As soon as his polished boots landed on the lush carpet, the raucous chatter and fierce arguing suddenly came to an unnatural halt. Aksel stood confidently in the open doorway, his pale eyes bright with sadistic pleasure. "I sincerely hope I'm not interrupting anything."

One man, his grey hair in disarray, stood up angrily, his dark eyes flashing. "_Phillip_! Get him out of here!" he called to the clueless guard before turning back to Aksel. "You have no right to be here, boy, what, with the ruckus you caused in your publicity stunt."

_Stunt_? Aksel frowned mockingly. "I apologize for being late," he began again, ignoring the man standing across the table. "Unfortunately, I must have misplaced the letter informing me of the meeting." Green eyes then landed on the bespectacled man sitting at the head of the table. "Niko, you're in my seat."

The Finnish pure-blood jumped from the seat as if it were cursed. The heavy chair tipped dangerously on its hind legs, ready to fall backward until Niko grabbed it shakily. The second-youngest Board member gave Aksel an apologetic look as he secured the chair back on the ground. "Here you are, Lord Lystad. It's good to have you back."

The three other pure-bloods offered Niko a look of contempt as the boy all but drooled at Aksel's feet. The Norwegian smiled warmly at Niko, pleased to see the boy's strange attachment toward him hadn't died off in the four years he was absent.

Niko Laakso had been an official member of the Board at the young age of twenty-eight. In fact, it was exactly five years ago that his father had passed away, naming Niko his heir. In the years leading up to Niko's initiation, he and Aksel had been the only two heirs attending the Board meetings, their close age permitting them to establish a bond.

At least a one-sided bond.

He crossed the room and stood before the four members of the Board, one pure-blood representing each of the Nordic countries. His eyes paused over the Swiss representative, Sven Eklund. "I'm surprised you weren't the one sitting in this chair, Lord Eklund," he jibbed. "I would have thought you camped here overnight to ensure that your arse would have been the next one occupying the Head chair."

The man, who had been the most outspoken about Aksel's presence, turned red around his cheekbones and his eyes dilated with ferocity. "See here, _boy_—"

"It's Lord Lystad, you'll do well to remember that," Aksel interrupted with cold politeness. He sat down in his chair and calmly observed the older man. "We're all gentlemen here, are we not?" He cast a frozen smile about the room. "We can have rational conversations without resorting to Muggleborn antics."

That caused the redness on Sven Eklund's face to vanish instantly. "Are you insinuating I possess Mudblood characteristics?" the Swedish pure-blood whispered icily.

Aksel pressed his lips together and smiled cruelly. "You said it, Lord Eklund, I did not." Before the man could make any more unwarranted remarks, Aksel clasped his hands on the table and adopted an aura of importance. "We have more pressing things to attend to than arguing amongst each other over the Head position—"

"I hardly think so," Vidar Berglund, the Denmark representative, intervened smoothly. As the eldest in the group, Vidar possessed an air of culture elegance. Considering his old age, the lack of deep wrinkles was evidence of his many years of practiced impassiveness. "You are twenty-one, hardly a seasoned dancer. Do you truly think we will step aside and let you hold the Nordic dynasty in your fist?"

The refutation was expected and Aksel knew how to deal with it. He may have been in isolation for four years, but his mother had been smart enough to teach him properly without sheltering him. Being thrust into the public after so many silent years was not as jarring as it would have been if it had been anyone other than Marie teaching him.

He adopted a fair expression and cocked his head ever so slightly. He offered a small smirk as he garnered the attention of the gathered wizards. "Who did you have in mind to take the Head position, Lord Berglund?"

The elder pure-blood's faint, quick blink was enough to give away his surprise at Aksel's calm disposition.

"Let's run through the candidates, shall we?" Aksel asked sweetly. "We have Sweden's representative, Sven Eklund." He nodded toward the scowling man. "Lord Eklund has been occupying his chair on the Board for over twenty years. Each year, he seems to acquire more debt from all the trifling—and sometimes provocative— things he purchases. In order to replenish his funds, he draws out enough gold from the Swedish Ministry's funds, funds that were meant to support the social programs for struggling citizens."

All eyes turned to Eklund, their expressions raging from disbelief to repulsion.

"Then we have Gunnar Olvirsson, the Icelandic representative for ten years." Aksel turned to the middle-aged wizard, who had paled dramatically. "Lord Olvirsson is a dotting husband who can't possibly say 'no' to his wife of twenty years."

"No," Gunnar exclaimed fiercely, having enough sense to know where Aksel was going. "Please, I am not submitting my name for consideration." He ignored the disapproval from the two older men in the room. "I have no desire to be Head of the Board."

Aksel studied the platinum-blond Icelandic. He had no qualms with the man, who preferred his studies to inconsequential meetings like these. Gunnar was a scholar and rather useful if Aksel would ever have use of him. The same went for Niko. Aksel didn't plan to prod the man into an awkward position as he planned to do for the two, more dominating men.

He bypassed Niko, much to the brunette's relief, and focused on a calm and inexpressive Vidar Berglund. The older man stared levelly at Aksel, hardly intimidated and every bit unyielding. The Danish man was powerful, perhaps not as powerful as the Swedes, but he possessed a fighter's spirit that would prove troublesome if Aksel did not crush him.

"And then we have you, Lord Berglund." Aksel straightened further in his chair and calmly clasped his hands upon the table. Let them see his hands, his steady and calm hands. He was in control. "You want power," he whispered softly, watching as the man gave the slightest bit of acknowledgement. "In fact, you would stoop to such levels to ingest an illegal potion that has been said to increase your power—"

"Is this your grand plan?" Berglund growled lowly. "Blackmail?" he spat.

Aksel allowed his eyes to widen a fraction. "Blackmail?" he repeated with a hint of innocence. "My goodness, no. I am merely reviewing what the public will learn when the new Head is elected. It will be an unfortunate situation should one of you be nominated. Our reputation would surely tarnish." He suddenly flashed a shark-like smile. "No. This is not blackmail. You will know when I'm blackmailing you, Lord Berglund."

He held Lord Berglund's eyes long after the man stiffly inclined his head.

"It appears as if this Board hasn't properly upheld their obligations," Aksel continued. "Openhandedly giving potential enemies such degrading dirt on us is _unacceptable_." He let his words linger. "Among us, I am the only one who carries an unsoiled reputation. Even if, for some ungodly reason, I was dirty, I would at least have enough sense to cover my tracks fully."

Sven Eklund waved a dismissal hand. "I am more interested in knowing your sources, boy—"

"I will correct you one more time, Lord Eklund," Aksel whispered lethally. "It's Lord Lystad to you. Next time you slip, I will slip. The press will learn about every last coin you've stolen from their Ministry and every last whore you've purchased with those coins." He kept his eyes on Eklund, but addressed Berglund. "And that, Lord Berglund, is blackmail."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lord Berglund nod once in approval. Perhaps getting the Danish Lord's approval wouldn't be as difficult as he imagined. Crushing the man into submission had been Aksel's original plan, but if he could cement Lord Berglund as an ally, he would have a firmer hold over Sven Eklund.

Aksel knew facing the Board of Prominent Pure-bloods would be difficult, but it wouldn't be nearly as difficult as proving to the _world _that he was fit to lead the Nordic countries. He had influence over the members of the Board, and in turn, the Ministries they represented. However, that didn't mean he had the favor of the _people_, the _press, _and other influential wizards.

It would be endless, this pressure to prove himself. He'd go grey at the temples and still be seen as too young. Every word he said, every article of clothing he wore, and every action he took would be scrutinized. It was a challenge he was willing to take up, a challenge he'd been trained to take, and a challenge he had no choice but to accept.

"I'd like to know how you survived and who trained you," the Icelandic representative inquired neutrally. "It appears as if you've had excellent tutorage, Lord Lystad."

"That's all you need to know," Aksel replied smoothly. "Dagnar arranged for proper training if something were to happen prematurely. You didn't think he'd leave his heir green and inexperienced to take up his mantle, did you?"

Silence met his statement, a sign of reluctant obedience. "I meant what I said to the people of Norway and consequentially to the world. I will respect what my late father has done for Norway and the Nordic countries, but I am my own man. I want to make some changes…"

**New Way**

"I want more vigorous training for our Aurors, I want better compensation for our Aurors, and I want better education in Durmstrang that will result in higher requirements for the Auror program."

The Norwegian Minister, Kjell Fornes, nodded respectfully to Aksel, yet one could tell he was still adapting to taking orders from a boy who was decades younger than him. "All understandable requests—"

Aksel stopped short and turned to gaze at the man who was a few inches shorter than himself. He clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the way the Minister's lips were curled at the edges. This surely wouldn't do. "Forgive me," Aksel said, smiling pleasantly at the man, almost bashfully. "I must have misspoken."

Minister Fornes faltered, clearly not understanding the reason behind Aksel's apology.

The young man took an advancing step forward, waving off the Lystad guards when they inched forward. He did not need their interference, especially when he could take care of himself.

Briefly, he drowned in the nostalgic feel of battle. His mother waved him off whenever Aksel mentioned dueling and battles. She claimed he had to know how to properly duel and defeat his enemies, but the battlefield was not his place. Participating in battle was for the people under his rule. Unfortunately, he was the player behind it all, the one responsible for calling the shots and moving the pieces.

Aksel's had learned to hide his disappointment well regarding his new position.

He stared down at the Minister, his eyes cold and his face deadpan. "Those were not _requests_, Minister, those were orders." It was difficult to refrain from smiling in the face of the man's blatant surprise. "We are an extremely comfortable country when it comes to money and finances. Now it's my time to build an even stronger army to defend it. The stagnant and relaxation period is over for Norway, it's time we move forward."

With a flourish of his robes, Aksel turned and swept down the marbled halls of the Lystad Manor. "I want drafted proposals on the policies and plans regarding the Auror program and I want them on my desk by the end of the week." He turned to glance at the shell-shocked Minister. "At that time, I will decide which plan works best for Norway. You are dismissed, Minister."

Aksel had to make a note to get in contact with his mole inside the Ministry. While he had a direct hand in the Minister's and the Ministry's exploits, he wasn't foolish enough to think they were blindly loyal to him, especially someone as young and 'inexperienced' as him.

A low, impressed whistle sounded behind Aksel, causing the Lystad heir to turn his heel and search out the source. Pale eyes landed on the three blue-clad guards trailing behind him. He had been aware of their presence ever since stepping foot outside the manor this morning. As his personal guards, they were meant to follow, but that didn't mean they had to be noticed.

Looking into their faces, Aksel could only see marionettes whose strings were held by his mother. Aksel knew he was just as much a puppet, but he had more independence than they did by realizing he needed to get _out _of her hold. These guards were simply Marie's eyes and her presence when she wasn't in Aksel's proximity.

"You will do well to remember to keep your tongue," Aksel informed darkly, his discrimination toward his mother directly affecting his relationship with his guards. He had no interest to maintain a friendly relationship with them. There was no point, no need. When was the last time he had a _friend_? The only people he extended a respectful hand to where the ones he could get out something in return. His mother made sure Aksel was forever isolated in nothing but political attachments.

One of them, the familiar-looking blond wizard, blinked at the coldness in Aksel's tone. "You- you don't remember me? We were classmates—"

"I don't remember that lifetime," he interrupted. "You should forget as well." He gazed coolly at the female and the other male before sweeping back toward his quarters. A small pang of guilt and remorse crawled its way from the bottomless void of impassiveness, but Aksel pushed it down hastily.

He swept down the corridors and zigzagged through the maze of the manor. As he reached his quarters, he threw open the doors and stepped into the sunlit room. Immediately, his eyes landed on the owl on his windowsill and the long, elegant body of his mother, which was draped across his settee.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Aksel inquired neutrally. "I thought you had prearranged plans for the day."

In her hands, she held a parchment, most likely the very same letter the owl had delivered to Aksel's rooms. "I've already accomplished my errands for the day, love." Her lips curled into a sweet, affectionate smile as she turned to look at Aksel. "You've received the most fascinating letter. Come inside and tell me about your day."

Aksel closed the door in the faces of his three guards before approaching his mother. Before he had the chance to properly clear his features, Marie jumped on him expertly.

"I know that look on your face," she observed through her lashes. Placing the letter on her lap, Marie gazed at her son with disproval. "Have you been unpleasant, Aksel? You know what I've said about treating others with respect. Remember, you gather more support and allies with a friendly demeanor, just as you would attract more bees with honey."

"Yes, that would be ideal, wouldn't it?" He sat down across from her. "Being as young and underestimated as I am, mother, I need to use a firm hand at times, especially if I want to avoid being taken advantage of." He held her gaze, even when she pressed her lips together in discontent.

"I don't want you to be like your father."

Aksel stiffened. He tried not to let her disappointment affect him, but she'd manipulated him well enough for Aksel to feel slightly vulnerable at her insult. He was raised to thrive off her approval; he was raised to please her. At his sides, his fists clenched and he tried to ward off the brainwashing, the control. However, it wasn't enough, it was never enough.

"No matter," Marie continued airily, adopting an adoring expression once again. "You've received a letter from Britain's Minister." She stood up from her lounged position with unmatched grace and handed the letter to Aksel. "Tell me your thoughts."

He took the letter from her and looked down at the signature. Sure enough, Rufus Scrimgeour had signed it with a flourish. His pale eyes skimmed the letter while his mother stroked his hair tenderly. The first few opening paragraphs included the British Minister's congratulations to Aksel regarding his position in Norway and the Nordic countries.

"I find it hard to believe the British Ministry is acknowledging me, or more specifically, my political power," Aksel told her honestly. "Britain and America are pure democracies. In their cultures, pure-bloods are seen as pompous families who are set in the 'old ways', not as valuable contributors to their society, or keys to past magics and rituals. As a result, the pure-bloods hug their secrets selfishly, and more often than not, important histories or rituals die off with the family."

"Correct," she praised genuinely. "Britain has been overrun by Muggle taint, Muggle influence. They've become weak as a result and many of their traditions and magical excellence has been depleted over time." Marie tugged at a loose curl on top Aksel's head. "In the past, Britain has expressed their distaste over the way the Nordic countries run their government. They do not agree that pure-bloods should rule the Ministries, yet, you've been recognized by their current Minister."

Aksel stared down at the letter. "They're in a war. Moreover, they've finally realized that they are no longer the powerhouse of the Wizarding world. It's not _surprising _that I've been contacted. It's clear they need help with Lord Voldemort's regime."

At this, Marie gave a chime-like laugh and walked around the divan. She sat down next to Aksel and crossed her legs. "I'm sure they think they can manipulate you, the youngest ruler of Norway, into supporting them in the war. That is why they invited you to Britain for a diplomatic visit."

Aksel skimmed the last paragraph where Scrimgeour eagerly invited him to Britain for a tour of their country and diplomatic conversation and entertainment. He had his own suspicions of why he was being asked to visit Britain, a certain Dark Lord coming to mind. As to _why _the Dark Lord wanted to lure Aksel was still to be recognized. Perhaps he wanted to finish where he left off and destroy the Lystad line completely.

Or perhaps…

"…_Step out from behind your father's looming shadow and take the initiative. Maybe then, you and I can dance properly."_

He would not forget those words, or the way Voldemort had spoken to him before Dagnar's assassination. He'd been so nervous then, so afraid and confused. Despite his four years of training, Aksel could comfortably admit he was still uncertain to Voldemort's motives. It was if Voldemort _wanted _an enemy in Aksel, or at least someone capable enough to amuse him.

However, it hadn't been Dagnar's shadow that Aksel had been standing behind, but his mother's. Aksel looked over at said woman, wondering if Marie was thinking along the same lines, in that Voldemort had been the one to influence the Minister's invitation. Of course, it might not even be Voldemort behind this. Perhaps Scrimgeour truly was reaching out for an ally in the war.

Her green eyes studied Aksel closely, as if trying to read his mind. "And what do you think of Voldemort's regime?" she inquired, bringing Aksel back to their current topic. Her face was exceptionally blank, as if she didn't want Aksel to gather any hints to what she was thinking.

"I'd like to know your thoughts," he countered, knowing the difference between giving an educational guess and groping ungracefully in the dark. "You've hardly kept me updated on his movements while we were training. I only know what I saw when he visited Norway."

She leaned back, satisfied. "And what was that? What did you see when he came to you?"

"Power," he admitted truthfully. "He's extremely powerful, almost overwhelmingly so. I can see why he would have followers. Even though it's feasibly impossible, they want a piece of his power, to bask in that power and in his praise." Judging from Marie's silence, Aksel had something wrong.

"He is mentally unstable," she said cuttingly, her words sharp and disproving of Aksel's portrayal of Voldemort. "Remember that, Aksel. No matter how he tries to convince you otherwise, he is unable to possess his once unmatched intelligence. He's a recycled husk of his former glory."

Aksel kept his hands carefully folded around the letter and his gaze on the scruffy script. From the night of Dagnar's assassination to present day, Aksel had an inkling that Marie was obsessed with Britain's Dark Lord. Her hate and dislike were overpowering. Of course, Aksel couldn't really criticize her judgment. He didn't know enough about Voldemort to establish a solid opinion on the matter.

"You knew him before he fell?" he asked her casually.

"Before Harry Potter destroyed him?" Marie reformed the question with amusement. "I never met Voldemort personally, but I've heard many accounts. He was charming, persuasive, handsome, and destined for great things. He would have been Britain's saving grace."

The blonde-haired woman leaned against the divan and smiled affectionately at Aksel. With a well-manicured hand, she reached over and stroked her son's cheek. "I raised you with him in mind," she admitted breathlessly. "You are what he should have been if he hadn't been destroyed, if he hadn't allowed his fears to run him. He feared death and he sought after immortality with a one-tracked mind."

Unnerved with the confession, Aksel simply inclined his head. "He succeeded," he reminded her. "Somehow, he was able to achieve immortality; otherwise, he wouldn't have come back. Unless the rumors are false and Harry Potter hadn't truly destroyed him, only wounded him. I think it's suspicious. Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived, yet he vanished shortly after. I believe Britain fabricated the story."

Marie laughed musically and patted his cheek. "No matter the circumstances, Aksel, Voldemort was defeated that night and he did achieve immortality. However, he achieved it with a price, a terrible price. He is unstable and insane." She withdrew her hand and motioned to the letter. "He is engaging in a pointless, messy war. His thought process is irrational and his motives are unclear."

"One thing _is_ clear," Aksel started, setting the letter on the table in front of him. "I don't want Norway anywhere near Britain's war."

"Understandable," Marie commended. "But you will write Rufus Scrimgeour back and graciously accept his invitation. You will be engaging, polite, and attractive as his Ministry shows you around Britain. You will accept his praises and gifts with poise. I want the world to see how dignified you are, no matter if you plan to refuse Norway's assistance in their war."

Aksel bit the side of his cheek. "Do you think it wise to visit so soon? I've just reentered society."

"And I've trained you well enough that it's as if you've never left society," she countered harshly with an undercurrent of pleasantness. "You're the face of the Nordic rule, Aksel. You will do well to remember it."

_The face. _It was spoken so curtly, so professionally, Aksel almost missed the underlying meaning behind those words. It was a reminder that his power was an illusion for the people. It was a power crafted and cultured underneath Marie's skillful hands and it was also a power that could be taken from him just as suddenly.

Even after all these years, he didn't know the extent to Marie's reach across Norway and the Nordic countries. He didn't know what made her powerful. He only had her word and the way the Lystad personal guards pledged their loyalty. There were occasions when she had left Aksel to go above ground during their four-year training. She'd always come back more lively, more radiant than before. He had never known where she had gone.

"I will inform Minister Scrimgeour to expect Minister Fornes and myself—"

"And your security detail, of course," Marie interrupted smoothly. "Now. Tell me about your day."

Aksel occupied himself with setting aside the letter and grabbing a blank scroll of parchment and his black quill. He humored his mother by telling her about the Board meeting and the general consensus among the pure-blood representatives. Fortunate for him, he was skilled enough to contemplate at the same time.

Marie was an excellent manipulator. One could truly believe she wanted Aksel to visit Britain because it would be good publicity. However, Aksel wasn't just _anyone_. By agreeing to bring security detail, he had agreed to Marie's presence as well.

Aksel silently pondered on Marie's true intentions for going to Britain.

**To Bleed**

Lucius bowed low at his waist before the hooded figure. The Dark Lord was seated in the empty parlor with his hood drawn and his head bowed. Many would make the mistake and believe he was slumbering, but Lucius was quick to spy a bone-white finger gently caressing the underbelly of the serpent, which was coiled around the Dark Lord's shoulders. The serpent eyed Lucius lazily, almost unhappily due to the interruption.

"My Lord," Lucius addressed carefully, clearing his throat. He flashed another guarded look at the serpent, knowing the Dark Lord had an unusual connection with the reptile. Even for a Parselmouth, the Dark Lord had exceptional control over her. At times, Lucius believed the Dark Lord could see through the snake's eyes and use them as his own.

Nagini hissed impatiently, though the Dark Lord remained still and silent.

Taking it as his cue to continue, Lucius held out a parchment. "The boy accepted the invitation, just as I believed he would. He will be here within two days' time." He inclined his head. "While the Ministry will be the boy's host, I am certain you will find a way to communicate with the boy—"

A single hand flicked toward him with irritation and Lucius closed his mouth abruptly, fear welling within him. He understood his plan to lure Aksel Lystad to Britain wasn't _ideal_, but it had been the only route open to Lucius. By convincing a few moles inside the Ministry that they could reach out to Aksel for assistance in the war, Lucius had indirectly brought the young man back home.

He was confident Aksel would not lend Britain's Ministry his assistance and he was too smart to be manipulated. The boy's acceptance to the invitation was most likely spurred by the desire for good publicity. Moreover, Lucius hoped the Dark Lord could accomplish his plans for the boy at the same time.

Indubitably, Lucius did not _know _what the Dark Lord had planned and he did not know if the Dark Lord would approve of his methods to lure Aksel Lystad.

Hunched in a half-bow, Lucius watched Nagini through the fall of his hair. The snake hissed at him again and slowly slid off her master's shoulders. As if waking from a slumber or a trance, the Dark Lord gradually lifted his head and pierced Lucius with bright crimson eyes.

"The boy's mother is accompanying him."

Lucius blinked and lowered his head, unable to identify if that had been a question or a statement. The Dark Lord couldn't know that bit of information, simply because it was _just _reported that Aksel Lystad had accepted the invitation. Just as he was about to reply his doubt on the matter, the Dark Lord stood up.

"It will be more difficult to maneuver around her than just the Ministry." Like a shadow, the Dark Lord breezed silently past Lucius. "Good work, Lucius. You've finally impressed me. Come, we must prepare for the Savior's home welcoming."

Unabashedly, Lucius savored the praise coming from his Lord and relished in the magic that brushed past him. While few and far between, the praises encouraged Lucius to dedicate himself fully to his Lord's cause in hopes of experiencing that praise and that magic again. It was what the other Death Eaters strived to accomplish and what few could only dream of.

His posture proud, Lucius followed after the Dark Lord, briefly wondering if the man planned to stage an elaborate attack or a simple discussion with the boy. Whatever his Lord had planned, Lucius was eager to see how things played out.


End file.
